When Sleuthing Spells Trouble, page 23
Mariah’s lips thinned. “What nerve. To think of all the times I defended him, in deference to his mother. Turns out he’s a common thief after all. He had no business taking that key, let alone selling it.”
“I’m not defending him by any means, but he didn’t think you knew about the box, so to his mind you wouldn’t have missed it,” I said.
“So that reporter had the key,” Mariah mused. Her eyes suddenly snapped wide. “Nora! Do you think that it was her that day in my bedroom! That she broke in here looking for the safe?”
“I do,” I admitted. “I also think that whatever your husband kept in that box might very well be the reason he was murdered.”
Mariah’s eyes widened. “Are you certain? You’d think that if that were the case, the killer would have tried to break in here while I was in prison to search for the box.”
Hank shrugged. “There could have been many reasons. The killer might have gone away, or maybe even have been convicted of another crime and been in prison as well. Or maybe he or she decided that as long as you were in prison, their secret was safe. But when you returned and announced that you were determined to find out the truth, they decided that they might not be safe very much longer. Especially when Jennifer started poking around.”
Mariah tilted her head to one side, pondering my words, and then nodded. “I suppose that makes sense,” she said slowly.
“Well, we won’t know anything for sure until we find out what your husband had hidden in that box,” I remarked.
Abruptly she pushed her chair back and rose to her feet. “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s get that box and open it at once,” she cried.
“Whoa, whoa, slow down,” said Hank. He laid a restraining hand on her arm. “It might not be that easy. We don’t have the combination to the safe, and I admit, I’m not too skilled in safecracking. We might have to call in an expert.”
“Oh, there’s no need for that,” Mariah said airily. “I found the combination to that safe years ago and I memorized it, just as he did.” She tapped at her temple. “It’s our birthdays.”
“Clever girl,” Hank said approvingly. “But even if we get into the safe, we can’t open the box without a key.”
Mariah smiled mysteriously. “Not a problem. So come on, what are we waiting for? It’s time we solved this mystery once and for all.”
• • •
Blackthorne’s study was large and imposing, just the sort of home office I imagined a successful doctor would have. It screamed of masculinity and ego, from the deep chocolate oak-paneled walls right down to the matching oak flooring. A thick rug in an Oriental pattern lay in front of the fireplace that occupied the far wall. The fireplace wall was constructed with a ledger stone façade, and the hearth with granite tiles. The oaken mantel was filled with photographs, all of Christian with people I assumed were clients. I did note, though, that there wasn’t one photograph of Mariah, either with Christian or alone, among them. A massive executive desk in an L shape, also in dark oak, took up most of the floor space. There was a large leather chair behind the desk, and two club chairs that looked to be made of the same buttery soft leather in front. To the left of the desk was a massive, five-tier bookcase. The top of the bookcase was trimmed with cutouts of what I imagined were either pixies or angels, in various poses.
Mariah went directly to the desk and ran her hand along its edge. “Isn’t it beautiful,” she murmured. “Christian had this whole room and everything in it specially built. He had the specs lying out one day, and I looked at them.” She chuckled. “I’m sure he thought I wouldn’t be able to read them, but he was wrong. I had a cousin I used to be very chummy with who was an architect.” Her fingers went to a piece of molding just above the center drawer. “He had a secret compartment built in, and you have to press the wood just right—there!”
The molding shot open, revealing a small drawer. Mariah pulled it all the way out. There were a few papers inside . . . and a small black velvet pouch. Mariah picked up the pouch, and a second later a key identical to the one we’d found in Jenn’s room dropped onto the desk. She shot us a triumphant smile. “He always kept his key in that drawer, he never carried it on his person. I doubt any thief would ever have found this hiding place.” She picked the key up and handed it to Hank. Then she walked over to the picture of a beautiful seascape with ships docking and tipped it to one side, revealing a wall safe. She spun the dial quickly, gave the handle a tug . . . and the door creaked open, revealing the outline of a box inside. She looked over her shoulder at Hank. “Do you want to do the honors?” she asked.
Hank lifted the box out of the safe, set it on the desk. He frowned. “Feels pretty light,” he said. He shook it and looked at Mariah. “The box feels empty to me, but maybe what’s inside doesn’t weigh very much. Let’s have a look.” He went to insert the key into the lock, and then frowned. “This key doesn’t fit this lock,” he said.
Mariah looked puzzled. “Really? That’s strange.”
“Did your husband have more than one strongbox?” I asked.
Mariah shrugged. “I suppose he could have. I honestly don’t know.”
“Well, we don’t need a key here,” Hank announced. “The box isn’t locked.” He flipped back the lid, and we all gathered around to stare at its contents. A lone sheet of paper was inside. Hank picked it up, unfolded it, and held it out so that we could all see what was written there: Fooled you.
Mariah looked at us, perplexed. “Who on earth did he think he was fooling?” she asked. “Me? He wasn’t aware I knew about his secret hiding place.”
“Maybe he was setting someone up,” suggested Hank. “Someone he thought might have a key to this particular box.”
“There has to be another box somewhere,” I said. “It might explain why he wanted a duplicate key made right away. He switched boxes.” I looked around the room. “But where did he hide it? Here, or somewhere else in the house?”
“I’d say it would be either here or his bedroom,” said Mariah. She glanced around the study, and her gaze fell on a tall oak cabinet beside the fireplace. “He always put his papers and notebooks in that cabinet. Maybe there’s some clue there. It’s worth a look, right?”
I pushed up my jacket sleeves. “What have we got to lose?”
Mariah and I both started toward the cabinet, but Hank paused, reaching inside his jacket pocket for his phone. He looked at the screen and then motioned for me to come closer. When I was next to him he whispered, “My contact just texted me,” he said. “Good news and bad news.”
“Okay, let’s get it over with and have the bad news first.”
“He’s had no luck so far with the photo. He’s sending it to one of his contacts to see if they can improve the quality.” Hank’s frown morphed into a smile. “Now here’s the good news. You don’t have to worry about contacting Dr. Fein. My guy was able to get in touch with Fein’s old nurse and found out the real reason Anne was seeing him.”
It was my turn to frown. “It wasn’t for depression?”
“It started out that way, but she was also seeing him because she found it hard to deal with her injuries. Apparently shortly after the DA dropped the charges, she was in an auto accident and got pretty badly burned. She had three surgeries, but still had a scar along the left side of her face. According to the nurse it really wasn’t all that bad but she was horribly self-conscious about it, thought it made her look like a monster.” He paused. “Apparently Anne was pretty vain about her looks.”
“A scar, huh?” Something was niggling at the edges of my memory. There was something I was missing. Nick came over, raised himself on his hind paws, and tapped at the sleeve of my jacket. I looked down and saw a slight smudge there. That made me think of the tan stain I’d noticed on Jenn’s jacket when I found her body. Could it be . . .
“Makeup,” I burst out, startling both Nick and Hank. I looked at both of them sheepishly. “Sorry,” I said. “But I’ve just remembered something that may be important.”
I went over, got my tote bag, and found the card Adam Porter had given me. I punched the number into my cell and a few minutes later I had him on the line. “Hello, Mr. Porter. I don’t know if you remember me. This is Nora Charles. I was in a few days ago.”
“For a trim. Nora C! Of course I remember you,” he said warmly. “I hope you’re calling to tell me you’ve changed your mind about a makeover?”
“I’m still considering it,” I lied. “But right now I have a question for you.”
“Not the news I was hoping for, but sure, anything I can do to help you. What’s your question?”
“You mentioned that you were able to locate hard-to-find beauty products. Did anyone ask you to find one for them recently?”
“Funny you should ask. Yes, someone did. She asked if I could locate a bottle of PermCover. It’s used specifically to cover up deep acne scars and the like.” He chuckled. “I’d hate to tell you how many movie stars cover up their acne-pitted skin with it.”
“Tell me, could that cream also cover up a burn scar?”
Adam chuckled. “My dear, it could cover up any scar. That’s why movie studios use it exclusively.”
“Thanks, Adam. One last thing. I don’t suppose you remember this woman’s name?”
He sounded insulted. “Why of course I do. She only gave me her first name, but I remember it. It’s Anne, the same as my mother’s name.”
I fought to keep the excitement out of my voice. “Could you describe her?”
He was silent for a few moments and I could picture him, eyes squeezed shut as he tried to remember details. “She was average height,” he said at last. “Five-five, five-six tops. She had on big sunglasses that covered most of her face and a horrible purple print scarf tied around her hair. Some sort of striped sweater on underneath a jacket that seemed way too big for her.”
It sounded to me like Anne was in disguise. “There’s nothing else?” I asked Adam. “No distinguishing characteristics that you recall?”
“Other than she had no sense of style, nothing,” Adam said. “She just came in, paid cash and left immediately. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”
“That’s okay, Adam. I appreciate it. If she should come back . . .”
“I’ll call you at once.”
I thanked him again and hung up before he could reiterate his offer of a makeover and looked at Hank. “I think I’ve figured something out,” I said. I told Hank about the smudge on the jacket and my conversation with Adam Porter. “I’m positive that the woman who ordered that makeup from Adam Porter is Anne Gillespi, and she’s the one who killed Blackthorne and Jennifer. We need to find out her new identity, fast.”
Mariah looked over from her post at the file cabinet. “Yoo-hoo,” she called. “Are either of you going to help me look?”
“You start,” Hank whispered. “I’ll go make some more calls. I’ll check on that police guard too, while I’m at it. It’s odd he hasn’t checked back in. Mariah said he went patrolling well over an hour ago.” He went over to Mariah. “I’ve got some business I need to tend to, but Nora and Nick here will start. I’ll catch up later.”
He gave her arm a quick squeeze and hurried out. Mariah turned to me. “Just like a man, leaving the grunt work to the women,” she said. “Oh, well, let’s get started.”
She pulled out some notebooks and papers from the file cabinet’s top drawer. She handed half of them to me and then settled herself in the leather chair behind the desk. I eased myself into one of the leather club chairs and opened one of the notebooks Mariah had given me. I felt a tug on my pants leg and looked down to see Nick looking up at me. He pawed again at my pants, digging the tips of his claws in. “Yowzer,” he said.
“You’re bored, I know. Wait a sec.” I rummaged in my tote and pulled out the pouch that contained his Scrabble tiles. I opened the pouch and let the tiles spill across the thick carpet. “There you go. Your favorite toy should keep you amused while we humans toil away.”
Nick pounced on the tiles immediately, swatting them to and fro with his paw. Mariah glanced over, and her lips curved upward as she watched Nick. “My, he is cute, isn’t he. And he’s so intense with those tiles. It almost looks as if he’s picking out certain letters.”
I looked at my cat and saw that Mariah was right. Nick hunched over the group of tiles, picking at each one with his paw. He’d edge one out, then swat it back into the pile. “What’s up with that, buddy?” I asked.
Nick glanced up, blinked. “Yowzer,” he said. Then he went back to swatting at the tiles.
My phone buzzed just then and I picked it up, looked at the screen. Seeing Michaela’s name, I hit the accept icon. “Hey, Michaela. What’s up?”
“Ms. Charles. I’m sorry to call so late, but—I just remembered where I smelled that perfume. It was in Skin and Scents. The woman behind the counter had it on.”
I felt my stomach lurch. “Ms. Reis was wearing it?”
“No, not her. It was the other woman, Ms. Spence. I even remarked on it and she smiled and thanked me. Said it was her signature scent, and every girl should have one. To be honest, I think she was making a pitch for those specially blended scents . . .”
I glanced down at the pile of tiles Nick was accumulating. So far I could see an S, two E’s, a P, an N and a C. Spence?
Michaela chattered on, but I didn’t hear a word she was saying. I was visualizing Gillian, with her mousy stringy hair and that pink and gray striped cardigan she always wore. The same color pink as the thread I’d found in Mariah’s bedroom. I was remembering something else too. Carm talking about the heavy makeup Gillian wore, and Gillian self-consciously touching her face.
The left side of her face.
“Ms. Charles?”
I shook my head and tried to focus. “Sorry, Michaela,” I said. “It’s been a long day. I appreciate you calling me with the information.”
“Oh, no problem. I’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early.”
I hung up and leaned back, my thoughts whirling. Gillian was so self-deprecating, so unassuming. She could definitely be described as nondescript. She’d moved to Cruz about seven years ago following a nasty divorce—or so she said. And that day in Hot Bread she’d mentioned that she’d seen a shrink for a time.
I ran my hand through my hair. This was crazy, wasn’t it? And yet . . .
Nick had wiggled under the desk, and now some Scrabble tiles came flying out. I leaned down and picked them up. A G, two I’s, two L’s, an A and an N. I didn’t have to put them in order to know they spelled out Gillian.
I knelt down and peered under the desk. Nick was hunched next to the velvet case, a pile of tiles in front of him. “I need to borrow these a minute, Nick,” I said. He let out a sharp meow as I swept all the remaining Scrabble tiles into a pile, then placed them on the desk. I moved them into position so that they spelled Gillian Spence. Then I slowly moved them around again. When I finished, I leaned back, hardly daring to believe my eyes.
Gillian Spence’s name had just become Anne Gillespi.
I thought back to the message Jenn had left. She’d said she wanted to talk to me about the woman in the perfume shop, not the woman who owned the perfume shop. Now I was positive she’d suspected Gillian, not Carmela, of being Anne Gillespi, but she hadn’t been sure how to prove it. That had to be what she’d needed my help with.
I swallowed, unsure of what to do next. I could call Anderson, but I really had no proof other than my gut and the name anagram. I needed to get Hank, and thinking of him made me frown. He should have returned by now. I was getting concerned about that police guard too. From what Elle had said, I was pretty sure that it was Rogers. I was just about to tell Mariah I was going to look for him when she let out a sharp cry. She turned to me, her face flushed. “I think I’ve found something,” she said excitedly. She held up a notebook and pointed to a notation in the margin on one of the pages. “He talks about having additional work done on the bookcase, and here in the margin he’s written, ‘Angels guard where man fears to tread, on the wings of justice.’” She looked up at me. “Christian was a very methodical man. He also didn’t mince words. If he wrote this here, in this particular section, then it held some special meaning for him.”
I walked over to the bookcase. “Some of those carved figures resemble angels,” I said. I peered more closely at them. The figure on the far left side definitely had wings on its back. I reached up and pressed my fingers against the figure. Nothing. I moved my fingers up, pressed on the wings. A drawer shot out from the bottom of the bookcase, almost hitting me in the ankle. I bent down and found myself staring into a dark cavity. I called up the flashlight app on my phone and shone the light inside. “There’s a box in here,” I said.
I reached inside and pulled out a strongbox that looked almost identical to the one we’d found in Christian’s safe. I took it over to the desk, pulled at the lid. “It’s locked.”
“Try the key.” Mariah handed it to me, and I stuck it into the lock. It turned easily, and I swung back the lid. I stared at what was inside, hardly daring to believe my eyes.
“What’s inside?” Mariah came and peered over my shoulder. She let out a gasp. “A gun? What on earth?”
I swung around to look at her. “I take it this isn’t Christian’s?”
Mariah shook her head. “No. I mean, I don’t think so. I know he always wanted to learn to shoot, but I told him I would never permit a gun in the house. But if it’s not his, then who does it belong to?”
“I have an idea, but we need to find Hank and that police guard pronto.”
Nick suddenly let out a loud hiss. His black tail bristled out in back of him and he leapt onto the top of the desk. At that same moment, I became aware of a faint odor in the air. I sniffed. I wasn’t mistaken. It was definitely Requiem.
Mariah smelled it as well. She put a hand to her head. “That aroma,” she murmured, and started to sway. “Oh, my,” she murmured as she leaned into me. She pressed a hand to her head.
